ONE pleasant morn, as carelessly I strayed,
Through fields and meadows where the lambkins play'd
Each varying scene which usher'd to my sight,
My fancy pleas'd, and gave me new delight;
Whilst sol in shining majesty did rise,
And deck'd with rosy hue the eastern skies,
The birds, new wak'd, made vocal every grove,
And, sweetly warbling, tun'd their throats to love;
The pearly drops my wandering feet bedew'd,
Whilst I well pleas'd the flowery path pursu'd:
At length I cross'd a gentle murmuring rill,
Which willingly supply'd a neighboring mill:
Here rugged cliffs, and rocks on every side,
In awful heighth the fertile plains divide.
Still onwards led by fancy's sovereign will,
I reach'd the summit of a pleasant hill,
Here, lost in rapture, pensively I stood,
Whilst a fair landscape I with pleasure view'd;
Here bounteous nature every prospect fill'd,
With contrasts gay, which grac'd the rural wild;
Whilst fixed thus, with pleasure I survey'd,
The fields and groves and every pleasant shade,
Diversify'd with rivers gliding on,
Whose surface smooth, reflects the rising sun.
The Mohawk falls from this high mount are seen,
Which fiercely roll the loft banks between;
The waters bursting with impetuous force,
O'er rugged cliffs which break their rappid course,
But find at length a channel smooth and plain,
Where they unite, and gently glide again;
The distant hills no longer now appear
So far remote, but seemingly are near.
How great's my joy, while from this mountain's top,
Around I view the farmer's rising crop;
Then next to see fair LANSINGHBOROUGH raise,
An infant city, which in future days,
Shall be exalted, populous and great,
As any boasted by a sister state.
Ye Gods indulge me with such pleasing views,
And grant the wishes of a friendly muse.
Lansinghborough, June 4, 1784.
Northern Centinel and Lansinghborough Advertiser. 1787.